Kael was four when he made fire for the first time.
Not with flint and tinder. Not with a candle. With his hands.
It was barely more than a flicker — a fragile little ember that danced on his palm and died before anyone else could see. But to him, it was everything.
It meant the world wasn't sealed.
It meant he hadn't lost everything.
---
He'd been playing by the stream behind the cottage — or at least, pretending to. His parents thought he liked to throw stones and talk to birds. In truth, he'd been meditating. Slowly. Clumsily. Listening to the flow of mana beneath the earth, the same way he'd once done as a warrior on the front lines.
The mana here was softer. Wilder. It didn't answer to force or command. It responded to stillness. To emotion.
So Kael sat. Day after day, barefoot in the grass, hands resting in the dirt, listening.
He remembered what it had felt like in his past life — the way power surged when you struck with conviction. But here, conviction wasn't enough. Magic wasn't a blade to be sharpened. It was more like music, and he needed to learn the rhythm of this new world.
When the spark finally came, it did so quietly.
One breath.
One flicker.
A warm, golden shimmer rising from his skin like steam in the morning air.
Then it was gone.
Kael blinked. He didn't cheer. Didn't smile. Just stared at his palm in silence, heart pounding like it used to before a battle. Not out of fear — out of certainty.
This world had rules. They were different. But they could still be broken.
He could still grow strong.
---
Later that night, he sat on the floor near the fire while Lira hummed an old lullaby, rocking a neighbor's baby. Dren was outside, chopping the last of the firewood for the week. The logs split rhythmically — thunk, thunk, thunk — like a steady heartbeat in the dark.
Kael held a warm stone in his lap, pretending to study its texture. In reality, he was trying again — calling to the mana, gently, as if whispering to a sleeping animal.
He didn't need power. Not yet. He needed understanding.
What do you want? he asked silently, not of the stone, but of the energy beneath it.
The mana pulsed faintly in his chest — not a reply, but a rhythm. A nudge. The promise of something waiting, just beyond reach.
"Kaelan?" Lira's voice cut through his focus, soft and concerned.
He looked up. "Hmm?"
She tilted her head. "You're quiet tonight."
He gave her a tired smile — the best a four-year-old could manage. "Just thinking."
She chuckled. "You think too much for someone your size."
You have no idea, he thought, and leaned back against the hearth.
---
That night, he dreamed of fire again.
Not destruction. Not battle.
Just a small, steady flame.
In the dream, he sat beside it alone in a cold, empty field. The stars above him were cracked and bleeding light, and the wind whispered words in a language he didn't recognize — but somehow understood:
"You are not the only one who remembers."
Kael woke before dawn, heart racing.
Not from fear.
From warning.